


Tea, General Ma'am

by raisedbymoogles



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Caretaking, Fluff, Gen, Illness, powering through it, resistance mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:59:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8739319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/pseuds/raisedbymoogles
Summary: Tumblrfic, inspired by one of those prompt list thingies.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblrfic, inspired by one of those prompt list thingies.

“The Fadia system is two gas giants and an iron-rich asteroid belt, beyond which orbits the communications station we’ll be targeting. It’s defended by a single TIE squadron, but there are at least three more Imperial squadrons of varying strengths within jump distance…”

General Organa pauses to swallow past a throat gone dry and thick. She resists the urge to sniffle, or cough, and rotates the holotable’s view to show Black Squadron’s projected approach. “Within jump distance of the system, so your first and most important targets are the comm stations here - here - and here.”

With each tap of her stylus, the static-fuzzy images of the comm stations turn a glowing red, one by one. She can see the pilots leaning forward, already locking on to their targets. _Good._ She swallows again and keeps talking.

Upper respiratory infections aren’t uncommon in bases like this: close quarters, most of its inhabitants human or humanlike enough to share infectious diseases. Leia’s no longer at the age where she can power through a head cold with sheer bloody-minded, red-eyed determination, but this morning she’d weighed the consequences of letting this cold keep her from her work and decided they were too dire. The Resistance is no better supplied, no better staffed than the Rebellion had been at its worst moments. She is needed. She is always needed.

With any luck, the Black Squadron pilots will be too focused on their mission to notice how their General snuffles and croaks.

She is reminded, in a voice older than hers that speaks in her head, that _there’s no such thing as luck_ when the squadron commander pauses at the briefing room’s doorway, ushering the last two of his fellow pilots out ahead of him. “General, ma’am,” he says as soon as they’re gone, turning to her with a slow, deliberate smile, the kind that made hearts melt and resolves wilt all over the Resistance.

“I know what you’re going to say, Dameron,” she says, holding up a hand. “I’d as soon not hear it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of telling you what to do,” Poe Dameron says. “Just, you know - there’s this tea. It helped when Pava was sick. That and some rest. …I could make it for you,” he adds quickly when Leia lifts a warning eyebrow. “Before we launch. Ma’am.”

The smile had faded, replaced with - Force help her - dark, liquid puppy-dog eyes. A man ~~around her son’s age~~ half her age was turning on the charm at her, just to convince her to sit down and drink some awful medicinal tea like any sensible sapient with a head cold. _I have a sudden, sneaking suspicion that Threepio put you up to this._

“On my desk in five minutes,” she orders, rather too croaky to be brisk and commanding.

Poe’s brilliant smile flashes like the first glimpse of sunlight. He throws a salute. “Yes, ma’am!”

The tea was, indeed, awful and medicinal. It was the best tea she’d ever had.


End file.
